


In Your Most Frail Gesture are Things Which Enclose Me

by froofie



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Blow Job, F/M, Hand Job, Schmoop, sleepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froofie/pseuds/froofie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excessively schmoopy short fic wherein Benedict takes care of you after a terrible day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Most Frail Gesture are Things Which Enclose Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from an ee cummings poem

Driving home at dusk from a very physically and emotionally exhausting day where you felt invisible to everyone around you and you’re tired from trying too hard to get their stupid attention, you pull into your driveway to find Benedict sitting on your front steps. It is one of the last chilly days of the season, which you will miss come Spring because you are one of a few who like the cold and hate the heat. He couldn't look more perfect in his Baker Boy cap, scarf and blue cardigan. His knees are bent up on the step in front of him and his long arms hug his legs up to his body, making him look even more darling. You take a moment to soak in this image of him before tumbling out of your car. The adorable wide smile covering his sweet face carries the warmth of ten Summers.You happily join him, though your body and mind are shot.

“Hey, love, you look exhausted. Come here.” He wiggles his fingers toward you, and they’re like magnets, their draw pulling you in before you even think about it. You appreciate the surprise (and welcomed) visit, but you really don’t have the energy to entertain. He stands and snuggles you inside his sweater, wrapping it around you, just holding you for a while. You go droopy on him; a couple of tears trickle out as you feel seen for the first time today. He picks up your bags and brings you inside.

You have just enough energy to take a hot shower. When you get out of the tub, you see he’s drawn a heart in the steam on the bathroom mirror. You shuffle into the living room to find he’s set up the TV to watch a movie (Ocean’s Eleven. He knows it’s your favorite film to veg out to) and he’s made popcorn, real popcorn popped on the stove, not in the microwave. Mmmm. He’s flavored the popcorn with real butter, salt, cracked black pepper and Parmesan cheese. Your favorite. He put out a bowl of M&M’s for you, too. He’s made you a light cocktail, something sweet with Kahlua and cream. The first sip goes down smooth. Your chest starts to feel warm. He’s brought your puffy comforter in from the bedroom and made your huge couch super comfy. 

You drag yourself over and lie down, curling up with your head in his lap. You watch the movie, vaguely paying attention. He plays with your hair twirling it into long strands and scraping his nails lightly against your scalp. You feel the negative thoughts of the day slide out and you go limp at the release of things you were holding on to. 

Eventually, you sit up and eat the delicious snacks. A kernel of corn falls down into your cleavage. You start to reach in to get it but he stops you.

“Here, let me.” He leans over and sticks his head down your V-neck t-shirt (stretching out the fabric) to playfully eat whatever fell down. You giggle at him, dazed. You drop more on purpose, sometimes blatantly. He dives in dramatically, making gobbling noises against your soft breasts. 

You make out a little on the couch, him leaned over you, you perpendicular to him, legs over his lap, reclined a bit on a fluffy pillow, tasting his buttery lips and tongue. You’re still very tired, so neither of you pushes for anything else, it just feels nice to kiss a while and be close.

You fall asleep near the end of the movie (one of your favorite things to do) and wake up in the middle of the night in your bed. He must have carried you. You are a little energized by this sweet gesture and having gotten a good amount of sleep, though you're still foggy. You notice he must be having a nice dream because he’s semi-hard (and naked) under the sheets. It’s too irresistible to leave alone, so you touch and fondle his penis, enjoying how it feels to just play with it without trying to make anything happen. Stroking him puts you in a hypnotic state, you don’t realize how long you’ve been doing it. You have fun feeling him grow by your touch. It’s nice not to have an audience; however, after awhile you realize that beneath heavy-lidded eyes he’s watching your hand move the sheet up and down. You give in and sweep the covers away and start sucking on him, loving how he feels in your mouth and on your lips. Because you’re both still half asleep, your actions feel like they are happening underwater, maybe to someone else. His hands are heavy in your hair, he’s partly dreaming, partly alert, trying to love on you, too, but lost in semi-consciousness. 

Because there’s no agenda, no plans to get off, really, you undress and climb on top of his naked warm body and rest your head in the crook of his neck, the two of you fitting together perfectly. Your fingers twirl through his hair. He lazily wraps his arms around you. You lay like this for a while, pulling the bedding over your reclined bodies. Just as you drift off, you feel a little wetness seep out of you and onto his lower torso.

oOoOoOo

In the late morning (thank God for late mornings), you wake without opening your eyes, running your hand along the sheets beside you to find that they are cool to the touch. He’s been awake a while. You smell something enticing. Coffee. Butter. Toast. Something unidentifiable but lovely. You keep your eyes closed for a moment more, enjoying the game of trying to figure out exactly what the scents are but as your senses sharpen as you come to full consciousness, you hear the soft sounds of his breathing next to the bed. 

“You’re even more alluring when you sleep. It's a beauty to behold."

"I should probably start charging admission." You smile and open your eyes. They go a little wide when you see him on his knees, kneeling by the side of the bed, a tray on the floor beside him. This is where the smells are coming from. He’s made you breakfast, just like you like it, and put a small posie of flowers from the garden (one small pleasure from the impending Spring) in a juice glass. Your heart twists a bit in your chest and you reach out and touch his stubbled face with your fingertips. His hair is sticking up in all sorts of interesting directions, sleep styled and completely adorable. 

“You didn't need to make me breakfast,” your murmur, “You take such good care of me...You can come to my sleeping exhibit for free anytime.”

“It’s my pleasure, of course.” He leans in and brushes his lips across your forehead before placing the tray on the nightstand next to the bed.

“You ready to talk about yesterday yet?” He lays on his side next to you in bed, intent on listening. 

You sigh. If you talk about it, it will probably ruin the tranquility of the morning, but it’s eating at your heart still and you know that if you don’t, your mood will be sour for the day. You turn on your back and throw an arm over your eyes, blocking out the muted sunlight that made its way through the gauzy curtains over the windows.

You start out slow, speaking in generalities about how lousy and frustrating your day was, then before you know it, you have said it all - all that matters - and your teeth are gritting together despite the slow trace of his fingertips along your belly as he listens to you.

When you finish, the silence stretches out and you put your arm down to look at him, fearful that you’ll see censure in his eyes for being so negative, but find with immense relief that there is none. He looks sad, having taken on some of your pain in empathy and when you meet his eyes, he smiles a little and leans forward to give you a soft chaste kiss on the lips. 

“Feel better?” He swipes a thumb across the crease you know has formed between your brows, trying to smooth it away.

You take inventory of yourself, and realize that yes, you do feel better now that you’ve laid it all out and have seen with your own eyes, once again, that he doesn’t run screaming from the room when you aren’t Miss Positive and Bubbly 100% of the time. 

Your energy returns and you sit up to enjoy the feast he made. You deliberately get bits of toast all over your body. He’s a good boy and meticulously removes the crumbs for you. 

It takes all afternoon.


End file.
